


i can’t get you out of my mind

by honeyflair



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/F, GAY RIGHTS!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyflair/pseuds/honeyflair
Summary: alternatively titled: charlotte and becky can’t handle their own emotions





	i can’t get you out of my mind

**Author's Note:**

> song: west by sleeping at last

Charlotte wakes with a pounding headache and vomit settling high in her throat. 

As soon as she moves her hand to check her phone for any messages from the night before her stomach lurches and she has to run to the bathroom before she pukes all over the expensive bedsheets in her hotel room.

Last night was Rough.

Sasha dragged her out to a bar after Charlotte’s match against Becky, tears stinging behind her eyes pitifully in the locker room at the state of her relationship with Becky now. Sasha took one look at her and cheerily announced, “we’re going out tonight,” not waiting for a response before stomping out of the locker room, the door swinging shut behind her.

All Charlotte remembers after that is Sasha, dressed in ripped jeans and a black muscle shirt that complimented her toned arms, showing up at her hotel room two hours after their very one-sided conversation in the locker room before and practically dragging her out of her room with a firm grip on Charlotte’s left arm. Everything after that is kind of a blur, Charlotte immediately ordering two shots as soon as she caught sight of the bartender when they walked in.

Three hours and many, many shots later, she stumbled back to her hotel room, heels in hand, Sasha opting to stay behind and flirt with the bartender Charlotte continuously pestered throughout the night for more drinks.

Anything between entering the bar and leaving Charlotte does not remember in any way. It’s probably better if she doesn’t though, she reasons with herself as she blearily studies the mascara running down her face and smudged eyeliner around her tired eyes, she probably was a mess the whole night. She’s glad she doesn’t remember, now that she thinks about it.

Wiping the makeup from the night before off her face makes her feel ten times cleaner than she was, already, and breathes a sigh of relief at the feeling of un-clogged pores. She’s about to hop in the shower to wash off the disgusting bar smell that has made her entire hotel room smell like alcohol when her phone dings noisily on the white sheets of the hotel’s bed.

She crosses the expanse of the room in record time due to her long legs and leans down to pick her phone up with only minimal cracking of her joints, which is a win for her since she has to wrestle later on that night.

It’s Sasha. Of course it is, she thinks dimly, as she reads what her best friend sent her.

**Today 12:21 PM**

**sash: u feelin okay? u drank pretty heavily last night… oh and also ur welcome LOL**

Charlotte stares confusedly at the last part of the message before her eyes focus on the picture as her lock screen, which was definitely not there the previous day. It’s of Becky. Some promo picture she shot months ago that Charlotte remembers shamefully saving on Instagram because Becky just looks really good, okay?

Charlotte blushes and goes to change it back to her previous one when there’s a knock at her door that has her head lifting fast enough that her neck hurts and she throws her phone back on the bed to go answer the door. She looks down at herself, wearing no pants and a large hoodie that rests mid-thigh on her. She shrugs and opens the door anyways. It’s probably more modest than her regular gear on most days, so, whatever.

What she doesn’t expect, however, is Becky Lynch herself standing outside of her hotel room, and Charlotte has the urge to slam the door in her face and pretend she isn’t there. She doesn’t, obviously. She closes the door very politely, in fact. Doesn’t even make a sound except for the faint click of it locking into place.

Charlotte knows it’s immature, and slightly embarrassing if she really thinks about it, but she really can’t stand the sight of Becky most days since their feud started. 

When it first started, at Summerslam almost a year before, they still were good friends, even though they were fighting in the ring and on twitter all the fucking time, it seemed like.

But then Becky started saying things, aiming to hurt, even if it was scripted, and Charlotte couldn’t look her in the eye without feeling like she was going to explode, in rage or in tears, she doesn’t know.

They drifted apart, naturally, messages going left unseen, phone calls being declined, on both sides, and their on-screen feud transferred into real life, at some point. They don’t even talk at all, really, anymore, unless it’s to train for their matches and meetings with Creative they both don’t want to be in attendance of. It hurts, knowing they were so close, and now they’re just… nothing. Not friends but not enemies either; strangers, essentially, if she thinks long and hard about it.

But now Becky Lynch is standing outside of her door, obviously wanting to have a conversation with her that Charlotte does not want to have. The question comes to her, suddenly: why, after all this time, does Becky want to talk to her now? And then, almost not of her own volition, her eyes glance towards her phone, and she knows, knows without even looking, that she texted Becky last night, in her drunken stupor.

She doesn’t look, but she feels red hot shame and embarrassment shoot through her at what she possibly could’ve sent to Becky last night. An apology, maybe? Or an angry rant about how furious she is with Becky, for letting them become what they are to each other now. Or—she hopes not; god, she hopes—a declaration, of sorts. Of Charlotte’s long-suffering feelings she’s had for Becky since the beginning, since the end. She hopes and hopes but Becky doesn’t leave. Instead, she pounds once again on the door, harder this time, pissed off at Charlotte now.

Charlotte knows she can’t ignore her forever, because she knows Becky won’t leave without talking to her first. So, she takes a few deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm herself and crosses the room once again, throwing the door open unceremoniously now that she knows who’s behind it.

“Charlotte I swear to god—“ Becky is saying as Charlotte comes face to face with her once again, and she promptly closes her mouth at the sight of her.

“What?” Charlotte doesn’t mean to sound rude when she says it, to practically snap at Becky, but she can’t help it, and it slips out without another thought.

Becky takes a half step back, not expecting the hostile welcome from her once best friend. But she doesn’t voice it. Instead, she pushes past Charlotte and makes her way to the bed, angrily grabbing at Charlotte’s phone and tossing it at her. 

“What the fuck, Charlotte?” Charlotte doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but knows it can’t be anything good. She gingerly unlocks her phone—pointedly ignoring her lockscreen, which is still Becky, courtesy of Sasha—squinting at the sudden bright light invading her eyesight. 

She navigates her way to her imessage, the green icon making her more nervous than she’s ever been before, and she’s a fucking wrestler, for gods sake.

The last message was from Sasha, obviously, but the one before that, is Becky, and Charlotte’s heart drops the same time her breath catches in her throat.

She clicks on Becky’s contact with shaking fingers and her messages from the night before invade her vision.

There’s three of them, and Charlotte reads them with steadily increasing embarrassment washing over her.

**Today 2:43 AM**

**becks im so srry for everytihng please believr me**  
**i didnt mean for this to happen i realy miss yuo**

Charlotte’s eyes drift down to the last message and her breath stutters.

**Today 2:44**

**i love you please forgive me**

Charlotte hears Becky step towards her before she sees her.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says when the silence between them had grown uncomfortable to the point that she felt her skin itching. “I drank too much last night I—“ she abruptly cuts herself when Becky takes the phone out of her hand, reaching behind her to tuck it into her back pocket.

“Charlie—“ Becky starts, but is cut off by Charlotte’s phone dinging once again, and she reaches into her pocket and takes it out before Charlotte can stop her. 

“Wait, Becky, don’t—“ But it’s too late, and Becky is already squinting at the message, probably from Sasha again asking her if she was alive.

Becky’s brow furrows, but not from the message, from what’s behind the message. “Why am I your lock screen?” she asks, no hostility evident in her voice, just pure curiosity.

“I—I—“ Charlotte rushes to defend herself from the shame curling deep in her soul at the fact that Becky probably thinks she’s some lovestruck fool that saved Becky as her background because she misses her so much. Not that far from the truth, she will admit to herself. but Becky doesn’t need to know that. “It was Sasha,” she finally gets out, and Becky’s ears prick up with interest, “she changed it last night. As a joke,” she finishes, looking anywhere but at Becky’s piercing gaze.

“Oh,” Becky says, but nothing else follows. They stand there for an infinite amount of time, it feels like, the world suspended, frozen, around them. It’s just them and the space between. Charlotte stores this moment in the deepest corner of her brain for her to reflect on and pick apart later; they won’t get a moment like this again for a long while, she realizes with sudden clarity. After this, probably, they’ll go back to ignoring each other’s existence except in the ring and to talk shit about each other on social media for no reason other than they can. After this, they’ll go back to being nothing. Charlotte decides she’d rather this happen sooner rather than later; any time spent with Becky increases her feelings by tenfold it seems like these days. 

So, she deflects; she’s good at that, always been good at it. 

“Look, just—“ she begins, looking anywhere but at the woman in front of her, “it was nothing. I was drunk and I didn’t know what I was talking about.” Nothing, she repeats to herself as she turns her back to Becky and opens her hotel room door. “Just go.” Just go before I do something stupid. Just go before I truly realize how much it hurts to stand in front of you and act like everything is okay. 

“No,” Becky declares, and Charlotte finally looks at her, really looks, and the anger on her face takes Charlotte by surprise.

“No?” Charlotte inquires, head tilting confusedly as Becky continues to stare her down unflinchingly, that same glint of anger in her eyes that makes Charlotte want to recoil at the same time that she wants to make right whatever she’s done that’s made Becky angry.

“No.”

Charlotte stares at her.

Becky stares back.

Charlotte looks away first, of course. Becky never knows when to quit, even now. 

“Fine, whatever,” Charlotte relents, slamming the door with more force than is really necessary but god, why won’t Becky just listen to her; leave before the blowout is too much for both of them to handle.

She purposefully plucks her phone out of Becky’s hand, walking the few steps towards her borrowed bed and sits, crossing one leg over the other; prim and proper, just the way Becky doesn’t like it. Becky doesn’t turn towards her immediately, but Charlotte sees the way her fists clench and her arms flex instinctively, a perfectly Becky action that has Charlotte almost sighing out loud at the familiarity of it.

When she does face Charlotte, all previous anger is gone, replaced by an almost resigned emotion, head held high but purposefully blank. Charlotte tries, but she can’t for the life of her read Becky like she used to be able to without even thinking about it. For maybe the first time ever, Charlotte can’t tell what Becky is thinking in this moment.

It turns out, she blearily thinks as Becky closes the distance between them with confident steps, she doesn’t need to. Because, as Charlotte gears herself up to say what she’s been thinking for the past months since their feud started, Becky leans down and cradles her face in her hands, fingers finding solace in the hollows of her jaw.

“Becks, what—“ she cuts herself off as Becky moves closer, propelling herself upwards and resting her knees on either side of Charlotte’s body, the bed sinking dutifully under her weight. Her thumbs reach up and swipe across her cheeks, wiping away tears that never came.

Charlotte stares up at her, stars in her eyes and color in her cheeks. She’s never seen Becky look more beautiful than she does in this moment. Dark eyes and strong jaw framed by messy, curly hair colored marigold.

She’s not sure who leans in first but, before she knows it, orange hair frames her world and soft, lightly parted lips cover her own. 

It’s unexpected, the kiss. Not that it happened at all, that wasn’t really much of a surprise; they had too much tension between them to be strictly platonic. The nature of the kiss, though—that was surprising. When Charlotte imagined it over the years, it was rough and desperate and just a little bit leaning towards painful—that’s how they did things, Becky and Charlotte; too much or not enough. But this… this is soft, plain and simple. So soft that if somebody moved their head a millimeter back it would break. So soft that Charlotte feels tears build in her eyes by the timidity displayed by Becky, by the immense care she so obviously feels for Charlotte. Their fingers brush on the bedspread. Somebody inhales a shaky breath, but neither is sure of who it exactly it was—maybe both of them.

Something drops onto Charlotte’s face. Like rain, tears spill onto Charlotte’s cheeks from Becky’s eyes. 

Charlotte tries to break the kiss, to ask if she’s okay, but Becky shakes her head and presses her lips deeper into Charlotte’s and who is she to say no to that? Becky pushes her back, and Charlotte complies, willingly and with no complaint on her part.

She thinks, briefly, about how they didn’t even talk about it. How they didn’t discuss the hurt and the pain that they caused each other all these months; but then, Becky reaches for the hem of her hoodie and whispers, “is this okay?” into Charlotte’s ear, and her world is right as rain, as far as she’s concerned.

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt for this was: person b finds out person a has them as their lock screen... but it kinda turned into something else entirely... my bad
> 
> also spoiler alert: they talk and reconcile their differences. also they’re in love :)


End file.
